First Torn Picture
by Love2readaway
Summary: Kate Beckett never thought, not in a million years, not in her wildest —or cheesiest— dreams that she would feel like this. And most important, that she would like it.


**A/N: After writing, and rewriting and rewriting, I'm so, so glad I managed to finish this story before the new season's premiere. Since it came to me long before it aired (about a year ago), I can guarantee you it is NOT **** influenced at all by the season 5 ending, not in the least. I** just hadn't come around to finally sitting down to write it. Hope you like it.

**Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

* * *

"_I've never torn a picture of a wedding gown out of a magazine."_

—Katherine Beckett_, A Rose For Everafter_—

* * *

Kate Beckett never thought, not in a million years, not in her wildest —or cheesiest— dreams that she would feel like this. And most important, that she would like it. But she can't help it. Underneath that shell of tough and independent homicide detective, hides her most human and vulnerable side, the side only a few have access to, especially _one_ somebody in particular, the very one that unearthed and unveiled that side of her in the first place.

When she woke early that morning, even though the beeping of the alarm clock was as annoying and inopportune as any other morning, even though the sunrays seeping in through the half-drawn blinds were the same, even though the non-stop sounds of rush hour traffic were equally familiar, the almost imperceptible light pressure of the ring around one of her fingers marked that morning as the start of a day that would be engraved in her memory forever. A page had been turned to a new chapter in her life. It was still blank, but too soon, it would start taking shape, too soon, it would begin writing itself in the book of her biography.

Like most mornings, laziness and temptation played their parts, with the difference that this time they almost succeeded in persuading her to stay in bed. But her conscience's voice was a constant echo in her head that grew louder and stronger. So, against her will, she ended up getting out of bed, abandoning the soft embrace of the sheets and the warm arms of the writer, still asleep, bundled in them.

As soon as she stepped out into the street, an electric energy buzzed under her skin, tingling through her body, and the first questions that pop into her brain were: How can the sky seem bluer? How can the sun shine brighter? The world, or at least the city, seemed to have been infected with her mood, injected with the same medicine running through her veins, because the sky really was bluer and the streets seemed more alive than ever. And all because she was happy. HAPPY. _Oh, god_, she thought instantly, _I'm getting soft_.

She was just walking past a newsstand, when her attention was caught right away. Her first instinct had been to keep walking, to suppress the new, recent and throbbing impulse, to ignore the subconscious pull drawing her into surrender, because deep down, she knew she wanted to. It was as if a switch —she didn't know she had in her, but must have been there all along— had been flicked to ON automatically, and, since she had no control over it, she couldn't turn it back off. Not that she wanted to, anyway.

Anyway, she was strolling past the newsstand, when her eyes glided reflexively to her left and set on the object that had robbed her attention. The visual connection lasted no more than a tenth of a second, but it was enough temptation for her legs to bring her to a sudden stop, for her feet to spin her around on her heels, and for her arm to start reaching forward, her slender and long fingers grabbing the closest copy off the shelve. Before she knew it, she was handing the magazine to the old vendor behind the counter, and fishing a bill out of her wallet.

"Congratulations, Miss," the vendor commented with a soft smile, taking the money from her hand. "He is a very lucky man."

"Oh…" A quiet giggle slipped out of her lips as they spread into a shy smile, and she felt herself blush a bit. "Thank you." This was still so very, very new. She had yet to get her head wrapped around the idea that she was now an engaged woman. And that she was gonna get married.

With a wave of her hand, she declined the plastic bag the vendor was offering her. He kindly handed back the bridal magazine and gave Kate her change.

"So, when is the big day?" he asked with courtesy, resting his folded arms on the small counter.

"Uh, well. We—we don't know yet," she stuttered, flustered, and felt like an idiot. "He just asked last night."

"Ah, I see." The man smiled at her, his gentle caramel brown eyes wrinkling, and a small dimple, which didn't really go with his age, appearing at the left corner of his mouth. "Well, I wish the two of you good luck, and the best of happiness."

"Thank you. Thank you very much." It was curious the first person to congratulate her was a total stranger. Kate put the magazine away in her purse. "Have a good day."

* * *

When she got to the bull pen, the first thing she did was store the bulky shoulder bag inside the drawer of her desk. While she sat down and turned on her computer, she noticed that neither Ryan nor Esposito were at their working stations. In fact, they were nowhere to be seen. Considering it was already quite late, it would have been only logical for her to wonder where her two detectives where hanging. But it was a different day today; other thoughts were crowding her brain, distracting her all too often, more frequently than they should, and she didn't care about their whereabouts or what they were doing.

Kate typed in the password in the awaiting window, but the system programs were slow to load. Scanning the area around her, she made sure no one was paying her any attention. Then, she opened furtively the drawer and slipped her hands inside the purse to take a quick look at the pictures in the magazine.

"Hi, Beckett!" the sudden chime of Ryan's voice, sounding way too close, made her jump in the chair. Her heart skipped a beat or two. The Irish detective was standing in front of her desk, one hand holding a steamy cup of tea; the other, stuffed inside the pocket of his pants. Kate fumbled quickly to close the drawer, but the thing got stuck. "What you doin'?" he asked, beginning to lean forward over the desk to see what she was doing.

"Nothing," she answered too fast, even before he was done formulating the question. With a strong kick to the drawer, she finally got it to shut with a loud, echoing bang.

After that almost-busted moment, her day became hectic and she didn't get a single chance to spy into the magazine again. It all revolved around work then; file searching in the NYPD database, endless phone calls, a short break to eat some reheated stale and tasteless leftovers from the back of the fridge, and then, an arrest, an interrogation, and a release without charges. She was so busy that she ended up forgetting about the magazine.

It wasn't until late, when she finally got to the loft and slumped into an armchair, that her purse hit the floor with a dull thud, making her to remember what was hidden inside.

Luckily for her, Castle wasn't home yet. So, she kicked off her boots, freeing her tired feet from those high heels, and got all comfortable, pulling her legs up onto the seat and placing a throw pillow into her lap to open up the magazine over it. She started flipping slowly through the pages, and soon found herself being swept deep into a world of shades of white and ivory and cream, in valleys and hillsides of flowing falls of silk tails and lace and tulle, in oceans of pearls and diamonds and veils, and in horizons of sweetheart and strapless and bateau necklines…

All dresses were beautiful, stunning, but there just wasn't… they didn't transmit her that… Kate simply didn't feel the _click_ she'd heard of and seen in movies.

She was almost through the entire magazine; there were only a few pages left to look at. And then, she turned a perfume add, and there it was. Her breath got caught in her throat for a moment. Her eyes scanned slowly over the photo, taking in every detail, studying each and every fall and fold, marveled with every little subtlety. Her fingers moved up to the top corner of the page and then caressed down the picture, almost imagining they were touching the gown's fabric. It might not be perfect, it most likely wasn't going to be the definitive dress, but she could easily picture herself in it, arm looped around her father's, gliding down the aisle toward the altar, gliding down toward—

Castle. Castle whistling. Castle whistling and carrying a brown grocery bag. Castle whistling and carrying a brown grocery bag and walking in through the front door. Kate barely had time to close the magazine, hide it behind her back, and fold her arms over the pillow on her lap. Dropping the keys onto the entry table, Castle turned to her and his eyes narrowed a millimeter. Kate cursed inside her head. After all, it appeared she hadn't been fast enough. As observant as ever, he seemed to have caught the swift movement of her arm, and he also seemed suspicious of her sudden discomfort and nervousness, and it seemed he was able to see right through the natural and nonchalant posture she was trying to pull off.

Castle clumped naturally into the room and placed the grocery bag on the short end of the couch.

"What you got there?" he asked, stepping up to her.

"Nothing," she replied automatically, maintaining a straight face.

"Let me see," he insisted, reaching out with his arm.

She responded instantly, squaring her shoulders unyieldingly, defending the armchair like a lion defends its ground. "Castle. It's private." The tone of her voice stated she was putting an end to the matter.

Opening the palms of his hands in the air and shrugging, the writer accepted that and turned around, heading to the kitchen.

Kate relaxed, making the mistake of letting her guard down, and that was exactly what he'd wanted. Fast as a cheetah, Castle pounced onto her and they started wrestling. He tried to slide his hands around her waist; she struggled hard to keep his strong arms from slithering behind her back. Kate was losing. The man had the advantage of his tall position hovering above her, his height, his strength, but, most of all, he was the only one who had knowledge of her weakness. Tickles. Castle's fingers moved swift and agile over her body, tickle torturing her without mercy. As mad as she was, she couldn't stop the weird, stuttering chuckles that stumbled out of her mouth.

"_N—NO!_"

She screamed and screeched and kicked and clawed, but it was all for nothing. It was a situation of complete helplessness; she felt powerless and weak against such an attack, her own body betraying her. Her brain ordered her lips to speak "Rick! Enough! Stop!", but the only thing leaving her mouth was a series of incoherent letters that sounded more like a demented rooster than actual words with meaning.

"AHA!" Castle yelled out suddenly, victorious, quickly retreating a few steps and lifting the magazine—now wrinkled— high in the air like a trophy.

Beckett was a messy bundle of panting breaths and sweat and tousled hair and sprawled limbs abandoned in the easychair, directing a sulky glare in the writer's direction.

"Whoa-ho!" he chuckled low, gloating in his own delight, studying the magazine's cover. "What do we have here?" His voice couldn't hold any more presumption even if he wanted to. His eyes, full of malice, rose from the magazine and looked at her. "Did you buy this?"

She didn't reply; she was still catching her breath from his assault. When she got off the armchair, she smoothed down her clothes and approached him. Without saying a word, she tried to snatch the magazine from his fingers. He reacted instantly, pulling his arm back and turning away from her body. Pitifully, Kate gave it a second attempt. Castle dodged her once more, spinning around and changing the magazine from hands, lifting it high in the air again, away from her reach. Kate jumped, bumping against his chest, and landed back on her heels, empty-handed.

"Rick, give it back."

"No, no," he said. "Answer my question first. Did you buy it?"

After a long pause, she replied, reluctant.

"…Yes."

"When?"

Beckett released a long sigh. "This morning," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"And…" Castle smiled; contemplated the magazine one more time; glanced back up at her. "Did you do it?"

Kate acted suddenly cautiously, trying to control any spasm on her face that might give her away. "Do what?" she murmured with feigned indifference.

"Oh, you know," he implied.

_God_, thought Beckett, _how does he remember everything that I say?_

Castle's smile crooked to the left and his eyes stared at her intently, while he purposefully stretched the seconds of silence to make the moment more interesting, exciting, intriguing. "Did you do it?" he repeated. After glaring at him for a long while, she nodded slightly. His smile widened, and it was cruel and torturous. _Why am I marrying him again?_, she wondered. "And it's the first time, ¿right?" he said.

"But I didn't tear it!" she blurted out defensively, trying for haughty, but only managing to feel even more ridiculous. "I just dog-eared the page…" She extended her hand toward him. "Can I have it back, please?"

He did _not_ hand over the magazine. Instead, he rolled it up and tapped the rim to his chin. "Wow… This makes me feel so…" His voice wandered off and he adopted a King-type attitude. Scrunching up his lips, he pondered, struggling for the proper word.

"So, what?" she snapped, losing the little patience she had left with every ticking second of the clock.

Castle looked down at her and smirked again. "Powerful and influencer. Is that a word? Influencer?"

Kate refused to fall into the trap of his provocative taunting; she was still waiting for him to hand back the magazine. Castle took his sweet time to, very slowly, place it on her open palm. Her fingers wrapped around it then, but Castle didn't let go, keeping the magazine grasped by its lower end.

"It hasn't even been an entire day that we are engaged and, _already_, I am altering the principles and foundations of your persona," he mentioned. She ignored him; he kept going without pause. "How does it feel?"

She found herself quirking up a brow, because, for this once, she wasn't following his track of thought.

"To be a woman obsessed with her wedding day," he clarified. "I really thought you were independence in the flesh."

"You keep going down this road, and there's not going to be a wedding to obsess about." Kate yanked at the magazine, snatching it from his fingers. "And I never said I didn't want to be married. I just said—"

"That you were the one-and-done type. Yeah, I know. I remember." Castle brought a hand to his heart. "And I feel very honored. And I'm saying it very seriously." His arrogance cooled down until it vanished. "Excluding my two other marriages, I'll tell you that you're my one-and-done type, too. As you wisely told me a long time ago, third time's the charm. And I can't think of a better third chance than yours." Castle took slows steps in her direction. "May I kiss you? I've spent all day missing you and thinking only of kissing your lips, and I really, really want to kiss you."

He certainly knew his way around her, looking at her with those honest eyes, full of pure and childlike innocence, which always had her melting with just one glance. Beckett allowed a tiny grin to play on her lips.

"Well…" she shrugged with fake disinterest. "I guess if you really, _really_ want it…"

With a smile that matched the expression in his eyes, Castle closed the distance between them. Kate let him circle his arms around her waist as she wrapped hers around his neck, all the while keeping a firm grip on the magazine; part of her instinct always remained alert and suspicious about a possible hidden agenda behind all that innocence Castle was displaying.

She rose on her toes just as he pulled her up so their lips were level. And then his mouth was on hers, first lazy and tender, and then hungry and deliberate, demanding entrance to explore every corner in her mouth, his arms closing tighter around her back, pressing her up against his body.

When they pulled back, he kept holding her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, gazing at her with smoldering and tender eyes. He then kissed her cheek softly and dragged his mouth to her temple. His hands started moving up her arms casually, ascending inch by inch all the way to her wrists. "May I see the dress?" he whispered sweetly and seductively into her ear.

"No!" She shoved him away and slipped out of his embrace.

"Come on, Kate. Please?" He puckered out his lips and looked at her with puppy dog eyes, but she was already immune to any of his tricky persuasions.

"Castle. Let me spell it out for you. N.O."

"_Fiiine_… Okay," he gave up. "I'm certain you're going to be stunning, no matter the dress."

"I know," she answered smugly, her head held high and her pride resurfacing. Turning around, she started for the bedroom.

"By the way," Castle said and she stopped. "If you're thinking of hiding the magazine where I won't find it, remember I've been living here for years. I know all the hiding places. Sooner or later, it will end up in my hands." He winked at her with mischief.

"Then I'll be _tearing_ the picture out of it," she told him and stuck her tongue out.

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**If you leave a review, I would appreciate it if you didn't mention anything about the new season's premiere. I am 100% spoiler-free and would like to continue that way. Thank you very much!**


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